Page 71 of Offside Attraction

Of course, she thinks so.

My mom doesn’t even try to hide her awe, a soft smile playing on her lips as she takes everything in. I groan quietly, not bothering to mask my irritation, and trail behind them toward the massive double doors.

I can’t believe I’m the only one who thinks this is fucked up.

Seeing Hayes at school isn’t enough. Playing on the same team isn’t enough. Now I’m supposed to sit at his family’s dinner table and pretend everything’s fine—when half the time, we can barely stand being in the same room without wanting to tear each other apart.

Mark rings the doorbell.

A woman I assume is the housekeeper lets us inside, ushering us into a grand living room that feels more like a museum than a home. A few minutes later, Mrs. Griffin descends the staircase, elegant and perfectly put together. She greets my mom with a hug like they’re old friends, laughing softly as if this is all completely normal.

“Hayes!” Mrs. Griffin calls, her voice echoing through the space. “Hayes, honey! Come on down!”

My stomach twists.

Footsteps sound from somewhere deeper in the house. Then—

There he is.

Hayes appears at the top of the stairs, freezing when his eyes land on me. For a split second, something flickers across his face—surprise, confusion, maybe even irritation—as he tries to piece together why I’m standing in his living room.

Even dressed casually, the asshole looks unfairly good.

Baggy denim shorts hang low on his hips, a loose black T-shirt clinging just enough to remind me of everything I shouldn’t be thinking about. His hair is a mess, like he didn’t bother trying, and somehow that only makes it worse.

My mouth goes dry.

He stands there, gaze locked on mine, and I swear the room shrinks around us.

Of all the places I could be tonight…

I’m here.

Inhishouse.

And something tells me this dinner is about to be anything but polite.

Hayes’s gaze sweeps past my family, detached and cool, until it lands on me.

And sticks.

The weight of his attention presses into my chest, heavy and deliberate. For a split second, something flickers in his eyes—something raw, unreadable—but it disappears almost immediately, replaced by that familiar mask of indifference.

Control.

Always control.

He starts toward us at an unhurried pace, every step measured, like he owns not just the house, but the moment. The air tightens with each step he takes, and I swear the room feels smaller by the second.

“Hello, Mrs. Miller,” Hayes says smoothly, offering my mother a polite smile as he shakes her hand.

“Hi, Hayes. It’s Turner now,” Mom corrects gently. “But it’s okay.”

Right.

Sometimes I forget she answers to Mark’s last name now.

“My bad,” Hayes replies easily. “Hello, sir.” He turns to Mark, that same polished smile still in place as he shakes his hand.